How Kicking Daisies started.
As I entered my second year of high school, I decided that I wanted to make more friends and fill my weekends with group hangs. It wasn’t that I was unpopular, it was just that my weekends were always dedicated to shows in bars that no one my age could attend. Since I had been dating my boyfriend, Matt, I spent most of my time with him and I was beginning to feel self-conscious about the lack of female friends in my life. By 10th grade, it was obvious which friend groups had been established and I began to feel that fear of missing out.
I spent lunch one day at a table with some friends from middle school and it turned out that not much had changed in the past few years. I felt comfortable at the circular lunch table, making small talk about classes and reminiscing about a few years back, and soon, we were making plans for a weekend sleepover. I was so excited to have my friends come over and began to feel a new chapter beginning. This was the year I would be more social and part of things.
After school, my dad picked me up when my bus arrived back at high school from my music program at the Educational Center of the Arts in New Haven. I had been attending my four core classes of math, science, history, and English at the high school and then leaving every day after lunch to spend the rest of the day in New Haven at the arts school I had auditioned for and gotten into. Anticipating my weekend sleepover, I was sidetracked when my dad announced that he had been sent an email from someone with an intriguing offer. The email was asking if I was available to play drums in a “kid band” directed by, Mike Mangini, a Grammy Award Winning producer from New York City (not to be confused with Mike Mangini, the drummer). Apparently, there were already two members involved; a 12-year-old boy from Bethel, CT who played guitar like Eddie Van Halen, and a 13-year-old, blonde-haired boy with lots of energy from Florida who would sing. I was obviously interested in this offer and my dad had arranged for a meeting with Mike and the guitar player and his parents that would happen the next day, Saturday morning. The excitement over my girl’s night sleepover was very quickly overshadowed by the idea of being a band run by a successful music producer. As my dad pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward our home, I stared out the window with a feeling that I somehow knew my life was going to change right then and there.
That night, my two friends arrived and we pulled our sleeping bags out and spread them across the floor of my small, hot pink with black stripes and stars bedroom that my mom painted for me as a surprise one summer. We watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and I remember thinking it was a very bizarre movie and I struggled to follow the plot. I just kept thinking about the email my dad received that day.
In the morning, my friends left and I got ready for my meeting. In the car, my dad told me we had to pick up my 12-year-old sister, Carly from her sleepover at a friend’s house and that she would be joining us at the meeting. I was so annoyed but he told me it didn’t make sense to pick her up and drop her off at home before the meeting. Letting out a bothered huff, we drove on. Carly hopped in the car wearing pajamas from the night before and it was obvious that she had little sleep. I thought that having my little sister with me at my meeting, dressed like this, and yawning would seem unprofessional, but since it was too late, I tried to put that insecurity out of my mind.
We arrived at Chef’s Table, a sandwich shop in Fairfield, CT that had a rock and roll theme and a small stage up front for acoustic acts and small bands. As we walked in, a man that resembled the cartoon face on the sign outside of the shop greeted us with a huge, excited smile on his face. His name was Rich and he owned Chef’s Table. Turns out he was the man who emailed my dad and was the mastermind behind the idea of the band. Rich introduced us to Mike Mangini, and to Ben Spremulli, the 12-year-old guitarist and Ben’s parents. Ben had hair longer than mine. He was a small, skinny kid who didn’t talk much and it was hard to see his face as his hair dangled in front of his eyes. Carly sat in pajamas at one end of the table, then my dad, and then me. Rich offered us a couple of sandwiches on the house and I obliged, asking for a BBQ chicken wrap, the first of many to come.
Enthusiastically, Rich explained to us all how found Ben playing guitar at a farmer’s market nearby and was blown away by his talent. He said he knew of a kid who would make a great lead singer who lived in Florida. His name was Duran Visek (age 13). Rich pulled out a video of Duran singing and he was pretty good. It was obvious he had not gone through puberty yet, but his voice was really good. He then showed us a video of Duran lip-syncing to A-Ha’s Take On Me, while wearing a fedora, and a long flowing shirt that we later learned was from mom’s wardrobe. It was clear that Duran was a kid with a lot of energy, and I mean a lot.
Rich went on to tell us all that from the moment he first saw Ben playing guitar, he wanted to form a band. He said he asked around the town and since many of the Chef’s Table customers were musicians as well, he hoped to find someone that knew of a drummer. Someone sent Rich a video of me and said I only lived a few towns away. So it was that easy. He found three members and that was enough to make some music. He knew Mike Mangini well since Mike’s family had moved to CT after 9/11 and they had become frequent customers of Rich’s restaurant.
Mike finally spoke, in a serious tone that cut the excitement that Rich had drawn up in half. Turns out Mike didn’t share Rich’s enthusiasm over starting a band, but he was open to the possibility of “mentoring” a project under the condition that Rich could actually find members that were good enough. Mike laughed which eased the sudden tenseness and told us that when Rich first came to him with the idea, he tried to make it difficult for him to actually succeed and in doing so, challenged Rich with finding a female drummer. He said he was quite shocked when Rich actually did, and that was the reason he was there at the meeting. Wondering what we were to do next, Mike suggested that we find a space to make some noise, and well, make some noise to see how it goes.
A few days later, Duran had arrived from Florida and he and Ben came over to my house after school since my basement was fit for a loud jam session. When everyone arrived, the initial set up of our equipment was a little awkward given the fact that I was nearly 3 years older than both of them. I found out that Duran also played guitar which filled out the sound a little more since we didn’t yet have a bass player. Once everyone was plugged in, we started jamming and our parents crowded by the open door at the top of the steps. At this point in my life, I had mainly played with adults who were at least twice my age. The few times I attempted to play with kids my age, it did not go well, and I certainly never played with kids way younger than me, however, I was surprised that it in fact was going well. If I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t have known these kids were just 12 and 13. We were able to listen to one another, improvise and make something out of nothing that actually sounded good, or at least we thought so.
At one point, Mike Mangini arrived and during a brief pause in the noise, he walked down the steep, wooden steps. My heart jumped. I was still a little intimidated by this guy. He had a Grammy Award and had recently finished recording the Jonas Brother’s first record. He waved to us and said in a slightly sarcastic tone, “Great. You can play together. Now write a song.” He turned around and went upstairs to join the parents in my kitchen at the top of the steps. Write a song. This was something I was excited to do as I wrote songs all the time.
For the next hour, we jammed until we had a song structured out, then we climbed the wooden steps to the living room and I brought out some paper and pens.
“Let’s write some lyrics to that song we just jammed,” I said to the boys, but as I looked up, they were preoccupied. Duran had tackled Ben to the ground and the two were soon rolled up like a burrito on the living room rug.
“You guys!” I said eagerly, “Mike wants us to write a song! C’mon, let’s show him how good we are and impress him.” They weren’t listening. They were giggling too hard and it was impossible to get their attention. Frustrated, I sat on the couch, trying to concentrate on writing something good. I was annoyed by their goofing off. I really wanted to impress Mike and make him want to work with us. Eventually, we threw some lyrics together that resembled a song. It was enough to get Mike at least a little bit interested.
A couple of days later, the boys came over again. Mike told us we were sounding good but something was obviously missing. The low end. We needed a bass player. Anxious to solve the problem quickly, I went upstairs to my sister, Carly who was diligently doing her homework on her bed in her lime green room covered in All Time Low and Nirvana posters. I asked her if I could teach her how to play the song we were writing on the bass just so we could hear it as a full band. Since she had never played the bass before, she declined, “Music is your thing,” she said. “I do gymnastics and you do music. I don’t want to do it.” and went back to her homework. Cori, my other sister who was 10 years old perked up when she heard that Carly had said no and offered to fill the spot for the moment. All I wanted to do was to hear the song as a full band so we can see if we were heading in a good direction. Cori followed me into the basement and when I slung the bass guitar over her shoulders, her hands were too small to fit around the neck. She fumbled to try to make a sound, but it wasn’t working. She gave up and I ran back upstairs to Carly and insisted she give it a go. “Fine,” Carly said as she closed the binder full of homework and reluctantly followed me to the basement. “But only because I think Duran is cute.” She said with a smirk.
Carly picked up the bass. She instinctually curled her fingers around the neck and plucked a note. Surprised to see she made a sound, the boys told her the notes to play and taught her the rest of the song. “0 0 2 3 2 0,” Ben described the frets to Carly and she followed along without hesitation. Within a few minutes, Carly knew each part of our song. She was a natural! There was only one thing left to do. I clicked my sticks together and counted off the song, “One, two, three, four!” I yelled and the four of us erupted into our first song. Hearing that full-sounding band, our parents one by one crept down the basement steps to see the four of us making music. Carly was shy and turned her back to them without missing a beat. She and I were locked in so tightly making a great rhythm section. Having Duran’s rhythm guitar and Carly’s low end of the bass hold down the tune, Ben slipped into a killer guitar solo. Duran followed, singing the last chorus with heart and we finished the song. The audience on the steps burst into applause and Mike said, “Great. You’re a band.” I was elated. It worked! Carly was actually really good too. None of us expected her to be that good on the first try. Mike’s comment confused Carly. She had only done this one song for me as a favor, but she sounded like she had been playing for years. It only made sense for her to be a part of the band. “Two boys and two girls,” Mike said, “It’s kind of perfect.” I turned to Carly who shyly smiled with a mouth full of braces. “Okay…I’ll do it,” She said. We cheered and the four of us hugged. I was thrilled. This was it! We are going to be famous, I thought as I hugged my new bandmates.
